I’m Not a Mom

The word “mom” is a hard one for me.

No, it has nothing to do with my own mother. Out of all of my days on this Earth my mother has loved and supported me every single one of them. I am lucky that way.

When I am called a mom though, I tend to cringe. When the one year old in my home calls me mom, or people in public refer to me as their mom, I find that I am very quick to correct them. I am their koko. Even though I want to be a mom more than anything it just feels weird to refer to myself as someone’s mom.

Part of me doesn’t want to be disrespectful to the women who gave them birth. Half of the kids that have been in my home had mothers that were still active in their lives at some level. If I put myself in their shoes, I feel like it would be a slap in the face to hear my child call another person mom.

The other part of me does not think that I am worthy enough to be called that. I did not have the excitement of finding out I was pregnant. I did not carry them for nine months. I did not go through the morning sickness or any of the discomfort of pregnancy. I did not feel them kick in my tummy and I didn’t go through what I’m sure is a lovely time when they were born.

Many people have caught me saying this and have quickly corrected me. I always appreciate the encouragement, but truly still felt uncomfortable.

My family all met in Des Moines to go to the zoo. My family enjoys spending time together so this was pretty normal. A friend of mine joined us so we had six adults and seven kids under six years old. Pretty much the definition of mass chaos. Our herd was watching the sea lions be fed. My niece (aged 5…going on 25) watched for a few minutes, but then stood in the back with me. We were talking about something and a stranger overheard us. The stranger was listening to our humorous conversation and said, “you should definitely listen to you mom on that one!.” My niece looks very much like her mother, and my sister and I look very much alike. So, it is not the first, nor will it be the last time someone mistakes me for her mother.

I don’t usually correct people, but my niece certainly did yesterday. Without missing a beat, she spoke up to the stranger and said, “oh, she isn’t my mom…she is my koko. That is my mom (pointing to my sister) and that boy and that boy live with koko. They have other mom’s, but koko is their mom too and she takes care of them and loves them.”

I didn’t have to further explain or translate. The lady just smiled and said we had a beautiful family. Leave it to the five year old to make sense of all my invalid thoughts and calm my anxieties about the word, “mom.”

So, no….I did not give birth to them. I did not celebrate their conception or carry them in my womb. Again, I did not put forth any effort into their existence in this world. However, I do love them. I do wipe away their tears when they are sad. I do kiss their ouchies when they fall. I have held kids all night long because of night terrors and past traumas. I do bring them to soccer games and story time at the library. I have planned birthday parties and Christmas gifts. Let us not forget for one second all of the poop, vomit, and occasional drop of blood.

With little man in particular, I have held him in my arms since he was eight days old. I have watched every single milestone he has had. I have only spent three nights away from him in his life (for work) and they were miserable. I know his tickle spots and the correct way to hold him when he is trying to go to sleep. I drove behind the ambulance when he was very sick and spent many nights by his bedside at the hospital. I know the difference between his cries and held him within moments after his first surgery. Every shot, every bump, every illness I have had him within arms reach. I know how to make him laugh and what calms him down. I know even know where all his freckles are.

So, no. I may not legally be a mother. I may not have ever given birth. I don’t have paper proof that these children are “mine.” I think what I finally understand is that I can still be a mom to them. I am still little man’s mother. His first mom does love him. I truly believe that and he will always know that. But, maybe….just maybe, you don’t have to be a legal mother to be their mom. I’ll take that.

Mama Koko